


Freedom Will Not Be The Price I Pay

by fouryearslaterdrabbles (CheshireCatLife)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Birthday, Birthday Fluff, Bucky deserves things for his birthday so here this is, M/M, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-10
Updated: 2020-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:08:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23096854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CheshireCatLife/pseuds/fouryearslaterdrabbles
Summary: I'm free, Bucky thinks...I'm free.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Sam Wilson, James "Bucky" Barnes & Tony Stark, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 1
Kudos: 23





	Freedom Will Not Be The Price I Pay

**Author's Note:**

> Bucky deserves things for his birthday so here is my latest contribution. Wrote this in half an hour and haven't edited it but I'm pretty pleased with it anyway so here, have it :D

Brooklyn was the same in its essence, if completely transformed in its looks. In Bucky’s mind, anyway. Steve didn’t tend to agree, staring balefully at the artfully crafted flower pots and neat streets. He seemed to think the stench of trash and dirt was better. Anything for the old days. Bucky was different; he was a man of reinvention. He liked to smell the fumes mixed in with the ostentatious perfume of every passer-by. He liked the sweet stench of the evening and the fresh chill of the morning. He liked to see the tidy streets, a settled warmth flooding over him in the seemingly safe streets.

Of course, no where was ever safe. Bucky knew that better than anyone. But the blanket of falseness felt warm nonetheless. The charade was a dangerous one, yet it settled him. Whilst Steve would forever scowl, antsy even if he’d lived as long in the future as he had in the past, Bucky would smile. It felt freeing, after all these years. Just a little quirk of his lips; like he could finally hold up a sign to the world that just said, ‘ _I’m free_ ’.

He was free. Hydra would never be gone, but neither were Nazis, or even the Romans. Every piece of history still held its place, had shaped the world that we live in now. The good and the bad, all jumbled together in this complicated, 3D jigsaw that people were still yet to decipher. So, for as much as it was worth, Hydra was mostly gone, and they would be crushed the moment they came out of hiding. Which meant, after 70 years of torture and fear and loyalty, Bucky was free.

As was Steve. Retired, calm, even if a little bitter, he was finally shaping himself into the man he could have been. Not a soldier, not a follower, but a man in his own right. He wasn’t merely the face of America anymore. He was Steve Rogers. An artist, when he felt like it. A singer, even when Bucky begged him to stop. Even a dancer if Bucky’s taunting stroked his competitive side enough.

They were a couple of old men getting on with their lives.

Sam held the mantel of Captain America now, and Bucky even helped him on occasion. As did Steve, when he thought the cause was important enough. Or when Sam was getting so much flack for something that should have been inconsequential that Steve stepped up and gave his Roger’s Rant on how we should treat people.

But today that didn’t matter. Because today was Bucky’s birthday.

Bucky didn’t care much for birthdays. They didn’t even make any particular sense now, what with the cryofreeze. Both he and Steve’s birthdays didn’t actually dictate how many years they’d actively lived, making them fairly futile. In Bucky’s opinion, anyway. Steve didn’t agree; he liked to buy bad gag gifts on regular occasions and a birthday was just another reason to give them out. And, usually, a stupidly precious gift amongst the trash pile. And, well, he wasn’t going to deny being given anything, was he? Or, well, yes he was. This was _Steve_ but even if Bucky thought that birthdays were a fairly stupid concept (and a fairly stupid one even if they were counting the right thing) he wasn’t going to let Steve go without at least a dozen presents from his mismatched hands.

They were beginning the day with a walk through Brooklyn. Bucky’s choice, not Steve’s. They revelled in the morning air, uncaring of the bracing breezes of March. Super-soldier serum, consensual or not, did have its perks. Bucky had his hands tucked in his pockets, long hair tucked into a low ponytail whilst Steve swaggered like he was on a catwalk, slipping a small smile over Bucky’s lips. “What?” He asked, as he noticed the smile.

“Nothing.”

“Buck-“

“It doesn’t matter, Steve. Now, how about we go back home? I want to set up for later.” They didn’t turn back right away. Instead, they took the long loop around until the path took them back in the direction of their shared apartment on the edge of Red Hook, so close to back then. It may not have been the same to Steve but it still held hints of its previous self, enough to satisfy Steve’s odd bouts of curiosity when the nothingness became too much. They both got bored sometimes, with nothing to do, with nothing in the _future_ to do. No end goal. Just…this. But it was a pleasant kind of bored. Not the kind of bored you were attacked with whilst you waited in bombed out trenches, surrounded by the stench of blood and shit, full of pounding anxiety and endless despondency. Nor was is the boredom of their childhood, where they had nothing to entertain themselves but a stick and some rocks. It was like payment; each minute another reminder that they’d earned it.

The walk took no more than twenty minutes, surrounded by the slowly growing crowd. It was a Tuesday, meaning only families were out and about at this time, or tourists. Yet New York still bustled, like a well-oiled machine churning day after day after day.

They walked inside, welcomed by the slow drone of the record player _someone_ had forgotten to turn off ( _and that someone was Steve_ ) and the smell of the cake they’d made together yesterday. It had turned out poorly but was edible, the most either of them could have wished for. And anyway, they’d eaten much worse in their lives.

No doubt Stark would bring another cake anyway. One _far_ better than theirs, which he would announce with his usual sneering charm.

The party was held three hours later. It was a small group, though the Avengers were growing into an almost unmanageably large family now. A lot of people were undercover or off-world but plenty of people still made it. Sam showed up first, a wide smile and some party rings (“you can’t have a party without booze and party rings!”), followed by Natasha and Clint. Natasha, of course, was holding the vodka. Clint, to no one’s surprise, had forgotten to bring anything. People trickled in slowly and with each new addition, the music was put up a notch until the party was in full swing. Their small apartment was bustling with groups of conversationalists. Steve had been lost to the crowd, chattering away to one of the guardians about off-world politics, leaving Bucky to host for the meanwhile. Which meant he was the one that had to deal with Starks arrival.

With a new cake.

But they’d planned for this. Immediately, Steve’s head flew up and he began to sing happy birthday, whilst Tony scowled at the loss of attention. Still, he was a genius and was quick to realise that the only cake on show was his own, meaning it was his job to bring the cake up to Bucky and hand it over, looking a little peeved in the meanwhile.

Bucky grinned, delighted; Steve’s strategies still came in useful, it seemed.

There were no candles but Bucky wasn’t a fan of open flames anyway so he just took the chocolate cake (not his favourite but what else did he expect) and gave Stark a grateful smile. (They may have been nemesis - definitely friends - but he was always going to be polite.)

With the last addition there, the party finally reached its peak. The dancing began, and Bucky tried to teach a few of the newest addition how to dance 30s style, whilst Steve laughed mockingly even though he was completely incapable himself. The drinking was definitely claiming its first few victims and Rocket had to be escorted outside to be sick (Bucky wished to never see a _raccoon_ to be sick ever again). Steve and Bucky were still stuck in their sobriety but neither of them minded. Bucky revelled in the conversation whilst Steve delighted himself with the lack of small talk with his closest friends.

It was a night to remember.

The last guest slipped away at 3 in the morning, leaving Steve and Bucky to stare sadly at the mess left behind. Still, in the dull moonlight, Bucky couldn’t help his smile. “So, you like birthdays now?” Steve asked, taking a step closer.

“Never said I didn’t. Just that they were stupid.”

“Sure, Buck.” Steve grabbed his hand and soothed his knuckles with his thumb. “I’m glad you enjoyed yourself.”

“Me too.”

“Happy birthday, Buck.”

“Thanks. And thank you for all this,” was all he could reply with, a satisfied smile sending warmth through his bloodstream. No longer did he feel the electricity in his bones, but merely the warmth of his own body, fully in his own control.

He was _free_.


End file.
